


Betty

by AlkalineChatter



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Pre-Canon, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-30
Updated: 2020-09-30
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:35:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26735986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlkalineChatter/pseuds/AlkalineChatter
Summary: "That night with Camille was meaningless, and he was going to prove it."A Hurt/Comfort story of Roy Mustang making a mistake and making amends with Riza Hawkeye. Canon compliant, pre & post Ishval.(This story is essentially me recasting betty by Taylor Swift as a fanfiction, hence the title. Not a songfic though, so don't worry if that's not your thing.)
Relationships: Riza Hawkeye & Roy Mustang, Riza Hawkeye/Roy Mustang
Comments: 3
Kudos: 18





	Betty

God, he missed her.

She was gone, deployed to the battlefield, along with several hundreds of newbies like her. Roy Mustang should have known that their idyllic time in Central would come to an end. It was simply too good to be true. After the many years of that fucked up dynamism between them thanks to old man Berthold, they could finally get to know each other without constraints. It turned out Riza Hawkeye could laugh. She could smile. It turned out she had interests of her own when she was not stuck in a wobbly house in the middle of nowhere.

It turned out she was really hot naked.

Even the tattoo was hot. Roy hated the whole story behind it, Berthold was an asshole as always, _what’s new, really,_ but fire alchemy was his bread and butter, and seeing it on her back felt like his favorite things on this earth were combined in this one girl called Riza Hawkeye. The tattoo was like a map to her. He knew that she was ticklish at the _solis_ symbol, and that she liked it when he massaged her spine at the fire salamander.

But the hottest of them all was her face. And there was no telling if he would ever see it again.

Riza Hawkeye could die on the battlefield while he got to sit on his ass in Central because he was a privileged state alchemist, too precious to be lost. He was disgusted with himself.

“Leave me alone, Van,” he growled at Vanessa, one of his sisters, who sat down next to him in the bar.

“How rude,” Vanessa rolled her eyes. “Just wanted to introduce you to Camille, but if you’re like this…”

“I’m sorry.” Roy was young enough to be peer pressured into being a social butterfly even when he didn’t feel like it. “Nice to meet you, Camille. I’m Roy Mustang.”

Camille was a nice, intelligent girl, and it felt nice to talk about anything other than the looming war. She was a striking redhead, and as social inhibitions melted away in the warmth of alcohol, she openly flirted with him. Much to his own surprise, Roy responded. It was fun, and in these miserable times, he felt addicted even to the slightest bit of fun.

“I can tell you’re going through a rough time,” Camille said, her voice kind, her eyes vaguely seductive. “I wouldn’t be against finding comfort with each other, you know.”

Riza was gone, gone for too long now. Roy had no idea where his life was going, he felt depressed and pointless, and Camille offered comfort. She was attractive and nice; he was utterly drunk.

“Your place or mine?” 

* * *

The sex was nice. Camille knew what she was doing, and Roy liked that she was in charge. But in the heat of the moment, when his passion was peaking, her breasts felt too big, her hair color was too much, her moans seemed too loud, and she was soft in places where he expected muscles and bones.

She wasn’t Riza Hawkeye.

Then regret came.

He had one night stands before. _Before._ Before Riza rejoined him in Central after her father’s funeral, before she showed her back to him, before they couldn’t finish a single decoding session without making love, before he fell in love with this new adult version of her, before she looked at him with those ridiculously expressive amber eyes and confessed she had feelings for him. 

_We didn’t say we were dating,_ some part of his brain tried to argue against the overwhelming guilt.

They were obviously dating, and he cheated on her while she was deployed in a warzone.

He was an asshole.

Roy had no idea how to undo it. He wanted to apologize. He wanted to kiss her. He wanted to show her that he wanted her the whole time, that he missed her, that it was always her, that he couldn’t lose himself with Camille the way he could with her. He wanted to make things right, and she wasn’t there. She was in Ishval. Or she was dead.

The thought made Roy choke on his own saliva.

His inability to turn things around made him panic. He had to do something. Anything. And in the irrational despair of the drunk nights at Chris Mustang’s pub, he crafted his own coping mechanism.

That night with Camille was meaningless, and he was going to prove it.

“Hi Miranda.”

* * *

Roy couldn’t find Riza in any other woman.

Perhaps, somewhere deep, he was hoping he could. Then he could fill this raw hole in his chest that threatened to suffocate him ever since she had been gone.

Camille was confident; Riza would’ve been adorably shy. Miranda was nonchalant; Riza would’ve been curious. Molly was enthusiastic; Riza would’ve roasted him with one of her sardonic comments. Natasha was voluptuous; Riza would’ve been thin and bony against his muscular frame. None of them felt right.

And no one, absolutely no one had her fucking expressive doe eyes that haunted his every step.

He had it bad. Real bad.

When he was finally deployed with the Executive Order #3066, he was almost relieved. He was going to find her, and he was going to show her that she alone mattered all along. The thought that sometimes crossed his mind, the naughty whisper that suggested she could be dead was securely silenced. He was going to find her.

He felt oddly excited on the train that took him to the deserts of anguish.

* * *

It would’ve been so easy to hide it from her. Riza would’ve never found it out. After he complied with her cruel request and burned her back, her trust in him was whole and unmarred again. They strolled in Central, she asked him about his plans for the country, she confided in him about her struggles with PTSD.

Riza trusted him as if he had never abused flame alchemy.

As if he had never betrayed that trust in other ways.

“Hey Riza,” Roy ventured one afternoon, when they were in her room in the barracks. He looked at her things – everything was so modest, almost dull, except for the colorful patchwork duvet covering her bed on which they were sitting – and he felt like as if he ate concrete. Her life hardly started, she was deeply, painfully traumatized by a war, and he owed her the truth.

She looked up at him with those beautiful golden eyes, silently encouraging him to continue. His heart sank. He was going to break her heart.

“I have to tell you something.” He was picking on a cuticle. “I’m afraid it will hurt you.” _I will hurt you._

“Oh. A lot?” she joked, but he could tell she wasn’t keen to receive bad news. Roy knew she was barely holding it together after Ishval. The normalcy they enjoyed enhanced her guilt to a nigh unbearable level.

“A lot,” he gulped. “Look, when you were in I-Ishval,” he pronounced the forbidden word, the word that immediately filled Riza with a special kind of tension, “I was very sad. I missed you. I felt so hopeless. I… It doesn’t matter, really. It doesn’t justify what I did.”

Riza stared at him. She seemed confused. Then she tentatively searched for his hand and took it in hers. Fuck, she wasn’t going to make it any easier. She was even trying to comfort him. He had to say it.

“I slept with some girls. Many girls. I don’t know why I did it. It was stupid… so stupid. I just thought it could make me miss you less.” He felt stuck with the I’s in his confession. How inaccurate. He wanted to talk to her. About her. “Please forgive me.”

She dropped his hand on the duvet.

“Wh-what…” Riza choked on the question. It seemed like she had no idea what to say. Roy had no idea what to say either. He reached out and touched her shoulder, but she jumped up as if he had burned her.

“I don’t know what to say,” she finally managed. She stood in the middle of her room, and Roy could only see her back. He saw she was tense, like an overstretched string on an instrument. Her shoulders were unnaturally rigid, and her fists were clenched. “Have I done something wrong? Have I hurt you? I’m trying to understand why — why you did this. If I’m not enough for you, you could’ve told me before I was deployed. If I knew you didn’t want me, maybe I would’ve deserted.”

Desertion was punishable by the firing squad. They both knew that.

“You are more than enough for me!” Roy insisted. He knew he was speaking recklessly and that he should’ve picked his words more carefully, but he was terrified to let her have the wrong idea. “It’s my fault, not yours. I made a mistake. But I want to make it up to you, Riza. You mean so much to me, and I… I…” God, this was difficult. He wasn’t going to spoil the power of their rarely said _I love you’_ s by using the phrase in this cursed moment, so he settled for another truth. “I don’t want to lose you.”

“How many girls?” she asked. Her voice was hollow.

“I don’t know. Like twenty-something,” he mumbled.

She spun, and he finally saw her face. The sheer emotion on it turned his insides to ash. Her eyes were red around the edges, and she seemed nauseated, as if she was going to throw up. Then she looked up at the ceiling in a heroic attempt to prevent her tears from falling.

“I’m trying so hard not to think like this, but it’s increasingly difficult not to feel like I’m just an instrument to your needs. I trusted you with my father’s research and you incinerated Ishval. I trusted you with… with… my feelings, and you slept with every other woman in Central. Have I got you all wrong? Are you not the Roy Mustang I grew up with?”

Roy had expected this reaction. This was exactly his thought process as well. But it hurt more than he had expected to hear it from her mouth.

“Please forgive me Riza,” he pleaded. Saying anything else felt so wrong; he didn’t want to defend himself. Her reaction was so warranted. He stood up and tried to approach her with open hands, but she stepped back.

“I wish I could burn you off my heart, Roy Mustang.”

He stopped. Her words punched him in the stomach.

“But I know I can’t,” she continued in a whisper. A single tear rolled down on her cheek. Then another. He wanted to kiss them away like he did before – _before._ She had always said that he had an uncanny ability to say the right words to her and do the right things to comfort her. He wondered if she still felt that way. “I can’t, not when just a moment ago I felt so happy with you. Not when my entire life rotates around you. Not when I still trust you. Not when I love you so much.”

Even now, as Roy felt undeserving of her loyalty, those words made him feel lightheaded with an odd, inappropriate happiness. Even when Riza said them in a strained, teary voice, even then, those words meant the world to him.

“And I love you too,” he responded earnestly. Despite his earlier concerns, it felt so important to answer her. He wanted her to know that his love for her felt like she was on his mind each time he breathed. As if _Riza Hawkeye_ was written on the insides of his eyelids and he was reminded of her every time he blinked.

Riza offered a bitter, humorless laugh. Then she walked back to the bed and sat in the corner by the wall, far away from him, hugging her knees against herself.

“Tell me why you did it. Tell me the whole story. I want to understand. I know there is a story here, so tell me.”

Roy walked back and sat near her. He knew better than to try to touch her. He grew up with her; he knew all too well that she needed space. So, he talked. He told her about Camille, about trying to make that one mistake meaningless with all the others. He talked about skulking around the shooting range and hoping Riza would be there. He talked about how her absence would never sink in and he couldn’t stop missing her, the same way you can’t stop missing an amputated limb. He talked because he was scared that once he stopped, she would walk out of his life.

“I see,” Riza said finally, when his voice faltered.

Her voice hurt him, and so did her facial expression. While he talked, her teary, broken, genuine eyes were replaced with the blank, focused glare of a sniper. Her lashes glistened with the tears she had tears, but her eyes were expressionless. Even her voice was different. It was unnaturally flat, like when she was interacting with Kimblee in the camp. _It was like in Ishval._ He tried to swallow the lump in his throat, but it wouldn’t budge.

“Thanks for telling me,” she continued in a bizarrely leveled way. “I don’t want you to worry; I will probably forgive you because… you and I, we have a history. But I need a break, okay? A break from this godforsaken military, the screams of children every night, a break from all this stress that I just can’t take anymore. A break from you, too.”

“I understand,” Roy said in the most comforting voice he could conjure in this critical moment. “Take all the time you need. But I mean it, Riza. I mean every word I’ve ever said to you, and I’m so sorry I’ve hurt you.”

Riza nodded. Her face didn’t respond to him, but he saw her eyes flicker at his words. It was an odd comfort that he could still get a positive reaction out of her. He gazed at her, willing to soothe her further, but she was having none of that.

“Please leave.”

And, knowing her better than anyone on this earth, he complied.

* * *

_Colonel Mustang,_

_You’re cordially invited to a humble birthday celebration at Maes Hughes’ place on the 21 st, 6 o’clock in the evening. I hope you’ll make it. _

_Hawkeye_

She invited him to her birthday party.

It was very Riza-like to omit the fact that it was _her_ birthday. Naturally, he knew. It was also very Riza-like to embrace the military’s communication style which erased first names. Roy had once told her how lucky they had been to have cool surnames. Riza had grinned and straightened her spine then, clearly pleased to be thought of as someone with a cool surname.

This was their – or, more precisely, _her –_ first communication since the moment of truth. Hope bubbled in his chest. Riza wanted to see him. Maybe, just maybe, she wanted more of him again.

Roy showed up at 5.59pm.

He dressed up as if on a first date. He wore the knitted scarf she made for him when they still lived under her father’s roof. He tamed his hair. His style was, frankly, dashing. And yet, he was more nervous than ever before, because Riza Hawkeye could see beyond appearances, and, unfortunately, he knew very well that she could tear him apart with one well-placed sardonic comment. It felt like the wrapped gift in his hands was what was holding _him_ rather than him holding it.

Riza opened the door and his breath promptly hitched. It didn’t seem like she dressed up, she wore a simple black dress, but Roy thought she was stunning.

“Oh,” she smiled at him. It was a quick smile so he couldn’t tell if the smile reached her eyes or not. “Hello Colonel.” 

“Hey Hawkeye.” His smile was long, genuine, warm. He couldn’t help it. He wanted to be polite and gentlemanly, but his eyes were ravishing her on their own accord. He missed her. Giving her space was difficult; seeing her again felt like being able to breathe through his nose after a week of influenza. Her cheeks turned pink, and he noticed that she was staring at his scarf. “Happy birthday.”

“Come in, then,” she turned around and led him in. “Please don’t expect something huge. Maes and Rebecca insisted we throw a party for me.” She said _party_ with such distaste as if it was a particularly nasty infectious disease. “It’s going to be friends only.”

“Sounds great,” Roy said genuinely, while he was removing his shoes and the many layers of his attire. “Where are they?”

“Rebecca and the others are late, Maes is in the kitchen with Gracia,” she responded. “I’ll let them know you’ve arrived—”

“Wait.”

Riza stopped and looked at him with those blasted wide amber eyes. Roy eyed her thoughtfully, trying to decipher her internal state. She seemed at peace, if a bit sad. Her lips parted, he noticed, and the urge to kiss him overtook him.

“Can I give you your present?” he managed finally.

“You shouldn’t have,” she smiled, this time genuinely. Like most people with difficult childhood, she too enjoyed presents a bit more than most. “You’ll spoil me before I know it.”

“You deserve it,” he muttered quietly. “So… Here it is. Happy birthday, Riza. Thank you for inviting me. I wish you many more birthday parties to come, since you clearly enjoy them so much.”

He couldn’t resist teasing her, and he was rewarded with a quiet giggle. Their mutual teasing was familiar and easy, and Roy suddenly wondered if she had already forgiven her, if he was allowed to be intimate with her again.

“You are supposed to wish nice things to the birthday girl,” she scolded him, and took the object from his hands. She carefully peeled off the tape, making sure not to tear the fine wrapping paper. He didn’t spare a single look at her unwrapping. All he saw was her sparkling eyes, the color in her cheek from the way she blushed under his gaze, the way she stayed close to him, and how the blackness of the dress highlighted the light freckles on her shoulders.

“What’s this?” she gasped with excitement. The present was a large and heavy wooden box. “Did you make it?”

“Partly, yeah. I put the box together, but I smoothened the wood with alchemy. Didn’t want to risk giving you a splinter. I made some of its contents, too,” he preened.

Riza opened the box. It was a tea box with a wide selection of obviously expensive blends. Roy knew she loved tea, and he knew where to find blends she had probably never tasted. He watched as she breathed in the mixture of scents. His heart ached for her. She was everything, and suddenly his gift, thoughtful as it was, seemed so minuscule. She deserved even more.

“Which ones did you mix?” she asked, and he pointed at the three unlabeled blends. “I’ll try them right now. This is so thoughtful, thank you!” The way she beamed made Roy feel as inexperienced and nervous as he was when he first kissed her.

“Wait,” he stopped her again. He was anxious that she would go to the kitchen and the moment would be gone with her.

Riza slowly put the box on the table next to them.

“Yes?” she asked, head tilted to the side.

Her expression was welcoming, encouraging. Roy had to know what she was thinking. He had to know whether she was done with him, or she wanted to be friends, or she wanted to love him again, or if she was just being collegial, or just so many things. He breathed in and started.

“Riza, look, I’m sorry, I’m so sor—”

Riza put a finger on his lips as if she had expected his speech. The air got stuck in his lungs.

“It’s okay. You’re a jerk, but I forgive you.” She smiled at him. “We don’t have to talk about it now, I’d rather not think about this on my birthday.”

“Oh god, thank you,” Roy whispered. “You are too good.”

“Perhaps,” Riza shrugged, amused. “Perhaps I’m just selfish because I want to be with you.”

 _I want to be with you._ Roy Mustang almost lost his remaining composure at those words.

“You’re a fucking angel,” he reached out to her waist, and pulled her close. It came so naturally, and Riza felt toned and lean under his hands like no one. He instinctively rubbed her back at the fire salamander where he knew she liked it, and her eyelashes fluttered at his touch. Roy almost wanted to cry in his relief, but who could’ve cried when Riza Hawkeye was looking at him with one of her trademark tiny smiles, when she seemed to happy to be held? “Oh Riza, you look so gorgeous. I want to kiss you so bad.”

“Is that so,” she murmured, then grabbed the back of his head and pressed her lips against his with unexpected assertion. A jaunty breath escaped through his nose, _he missed this,_ and he was almost embarrassed to realize that one kiss from her could instantly turn him on. He could feel her everywhere around him, from the strands of her hair that tickled her forehead to the muscles of her thighs pressing against his hips, and that black dress was blissfully thin; he could even feel the bumpy surface of her skin where he had burned her. And yet, despite her tantalizing presence, the sweetest part of the kiss was the absolution she offered with it.

“Wow,” Riza flashed a shy grin when they pulled apart. She seemed, in Roy’s estimation, at least sixty percent happier than before – and this made his heart sing. Perhaps, after all this, they could patch things up. Then, he would go ahead and patch this country up for her, clean it up, and hand it over to her, perfect and demilitarized. Because she deserved nothing less.

But that had to wait. Tonight, it was her birthday and he would be damned if he wasn’t going to make it perfect for her.

“Shall we?” Roy offered his arm with such elegance and social charm as if they were at the opera and not in Hughes’ apartment, wearing socks and slippers.

And much to his delight, Riza gracefully took his arm.

“Let’s go greet Maes and Gracia.”

**Author's Note:**

> Heck, writing young Riza is so difficult. She isn't super jaded yet, but she still has to be in character. Anyhow, I hope you liked it and please don't hesitate to leave a comment~ 
> 
> PS: feel free to let me know if you have any requests with these two and I'll see what I can do, I feel like writing about them is my the only therapy I can afford.


End file.
